


Side Tie

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Lace Panties, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV Dean Winchester, Panties, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sam In Panties, Top Dean, Topping from the Bottom, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's simple and not simple: Sam wears black lace side tie panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Guh. My mind just needed porn today. I'm fighting off a cold so excuse the fuzziness of this writing and my lack of update for It Takes. But here, have some Wincest! 
> 
> Somewhere in the Chicago Verse. Let's say Sam is 42 and Dean is 46. 
> 
> I know cis guys don't usually have multiples but let's say they do and that is a thing. Just enjoy the porn.
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc. are appreciated and loved! <3

It’s a quiet Friday evening for them. A long week with two guys at the shop out sick, plus the fact that Dean felt himself coming down with a cold, made the couch the perfect spot to be. Aching and experiencing that tiny yet ever present congestion in the left side of his head, Dean sprawled out. Immediately upon his arrival he had shed his clothes and changed into a pair of Sam’s sweat pants and his own ratty Bears shirt.

He isn’t exactly a Bears fan but it’s Chicago and well, do as the Chicagoans do. Besides, it was comfortable and he’d bought it for five bucks.

Waiting for Sam to order dinner, he wraps himself up in the fleece blanket Mrs. Martinez gave them when they had first moved in. It smells like her house and their house, which is oddly comforting. With a few sniffles, Dean flips through Netflix. Will Johnny Depp ever stop making movies or looking like he’s twenty years old? Why are there so many bridal shows? Would it kill them to have some Clint Eastwood movies on here, amongst all the crap?

Pondering these highly important questions—when just a few weeks ago he was debating about which gun to use on a hunt—he hears the front door open. Like the dog Sam’s been bugging him about lately, Dean starts to get up to greet his brother at the entryway. He hears the rustle of bags and instantly thinks Sam went grocery shopping.

“Get back on the couch Dean,” Sam says before Dean is up, his tone hurried. “Don’t get up.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Dean snaps back, crossing his legs and stretching. “You bring food?”

He hears a snort from the hallway; Sam ventures into his room. A shout is heard, consisting of, “You could have made something you know.”

Of course Dean snorts back. “Dude, tired. Besides, you work at a desk all day. How’re you tired?” Dean is just making a cheap shot here and he knows it. He’s been to Sam’s job at the nonprofit, seen him work for an entire day and may or may not have blown Sam while crouched under his desk as Sam took a conference call.

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” Dean mutters with a sniffle. In his world, Sam is supposed to be begging to take care of him, on his knees before him with only Dean’s needs in mind. Smiling and laying back, he made himself comfortable, sniffling only slightly.

A few minutes later and Sam finally finishes whatever he was doing and walks into the living room. It’s technically their living room and dining room but Sam had some interior decorator he met on during a conference come into their tiny house and figure out ways to make it seem less tiny. Several times after that visit, Dean kept harassing Sam about trying to figure out ways to make Sam seem less gay. And of course his ass was swiftly relegated to his own bed for an entire week before he was welcomed back into Sam’s.

Dean thinks he might suggest pizza and a movie, maybe a flick he doesn’t have to pay attention to much but can still watch. His mouth opens to say something but it remains hanging open when he sees Sam.

“Don’t,” Sam pleads, in a tone of voice very seldom heard. “Just… act like… this is an everyday thing.”

It takes more than a minute for Dean to pull himself together and close his mouth. It’s not just, well, the obvious, it’s everything about Sam at that moment and in the minutes after. There he is, standing in front of Dean and then sitting next to him, with his long hair pulled back into a messy bun, chunks of it falling to frame his face in a way Dean can never explain. Then there is the too-big zip up sweater one of the ladies from work gave Dean and Sam somehow latched onto and claimed as his own; it’s a dark gray color on the outside and a soft egg white on the inside, with the sleeves too long so they fall over Sam’s hands. It hangs on him but it looks so comfortable and inviting, Dean’s pretty sure this is the blue-blanket-from-1990 reincarnated.

And then there is the final piece to the way Sam looks tonight, which keeps Dean speechless.

It doesn’t seem like much to begin with; Dean thinks maybe Sam’s just finally let loose and gone commando for the evening. Even though they have regular sex on the couch and throughout the house, and are comfortable being naked in their home, Sam doesn’t let Dean sit ass naked on the couch when watching movies. It’s a house rule Dean has been trying to overthrow for a while.

But no, he’s definitely wearing something.

Maybe briefs.

Briefs don’t look like that.

Sam yawns, and in the process, stretches. The sweater hikes up and the picture is clearer.

Those are panties.

Tiny, lacy, black and pink panties.

Something completely fritzes out in Dean’s head. He feels his mouth form an O shape but no words or noises come out. Sam is completely concentrating on the television, even though it’s just The Simpsons on the screen. Dean has an urge to demand what the fuck is going on, but he remembers that tone when asked not to make a big deal. It takes Dean Winchester a while but the wheels in his head turn and a few pieces fall together. Sam is trying something new. He is putting himself out there and the last thing he needs—or deserves—is Dean guffawing or cracking a joke.

No one knows about Rhonda thank god. But Dean wants to know what experience Sam had to lead to this. Was it recent? Was it something he always wanted to try? His thoughts turn to what John might say and he instantly feels dread and guilt.

As if he could sense the mere thought of their father, Sam’s knee knocks against Dean’s.

“So,” Sam mutters, clearing his throat. “You… you have a good day at work?”

There are things Dean has to work through in order to understand all of what is happening. He mumbles off some half-assed reply and keeps thinking.

They are black lace with a floral pattern with thin pink ribbons crossed up the sides. They’re more like boy shorts, low cut, so Sam’s cock is snug but protruding, pushing against the lace even though he’s soft. The more Dean looks, the more Sam starts to fidget. Dean keeps looking from Sam’s hair to the sweater to the panties. He expands his gaze and takes in the miles of muscled legs and thighs, the bare feet, and Sam’s elegant fingers peeking out from the sleeves of the sweater.

Before Dean knows it, he’s all over Sam.

The way they go about it this time is rough and pushy and confusing. One moment Sam will be biting Dean’s neck and the next he’ll be moaning softly into Dean’s ear, practically purring.

A cellphone rings in the distance as Sam’s legs are wrapped around Dean’s waist, Dean pushing and pressing him down into the couch cushions, both of them still clothed and hard and panting. The only thing going through Dean’s mind is fuck Sam, gotta fuck Sam.

The call is ignored by both of them. Dean looks down and sees the pink, leaking tip of Sam’s cock bulging and poking out of the panties, bobbing against his stomach when Dean moves. Dean reaches down and gropes at Sam’s balls through the lace, which releases a whine from Sam.

This has to be investigated.

Dean breaks away from Sam for a minute to run—sprint—to his room and dig out a bullet vibrator from his toys drawer. He races back, skidding on the floor, and kneels down in front of Sam, pushing his legs open and settling in the space of his legs.

“Hold on,” is the only low, rough warning Dean gives.

He licks his lips—eyes locked on Sam’s—and starts his investigation. He presses his mouth over the bulge, licking and sucking on Sam’s cock through the lace until it’s wet and sticky with spit and a few lines of come dripping down. Dean laps those up and noses against the tender spot where Sam’s hip and thigh meet. He bites down and leaves a mark, all through the lace. He gropes Sam’s ass in earnest, hands cupping and squeezing firmly, massaging as he begins to suck on the head of Sam’s cock.

Slowly, he starts to push down the panties, away from Sam’s cock, so that in the end he’s admiring a full view. Bunched up under his balls, the panties frame his thick, red cock and heavy, tight balls. Dean looks up and sees Sam’s chest heaving, his face flush, the tip of his nose red, and his eyelids fluttering. His mouth hangs open in invitation, so Dean takes advantage. He leans up and pulls Sam down so that they meet halfway. Sam’s cock bobs and twitches near Dean’s chest as they kiss.

When Dean presses the bullet under Sam’s balls, against the lace, Sam’s cock jerks and his hips roll forward. Taking his time, Dean continues to sloppily kiss Sam while moving the bullet up and down Sam’s cock, pausing to stop at this one spot just under the head. He pushes the bullet against it and Sam opens his legs, puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders with a desperate squeeze, and pants out, “Fuck me, fuck me _now_.”

“On or off?” Dean asks in relation to the panties, hauled up by Sam’s hands. “Oh fuck.” He can tell now that he isn’t going to be in control of this round.

“Shut up,” Sam orders and Dean happily does. He’s slammed onto the floor, on his back, while Sam grabs a tube of lube from under the couch cushion. Best idea ever, credit goes to Dean. Though all the credit at the moment goes to Sam for pulling Dean’s cock out of his sweats, lubing it up, and reaching back to lube himself up. When Dean starts to say something about the lack of prep, Sam just commands him to shut the fuck up or it’s all over.

They grind against each other and Dean’s toes curl at the feeling of lace and Sam’s hard cock against his. He pushes his hands under Sam’s sweater and gropes at the muscles there, moaning when Sam moves forward and grinds Dean’s cock against his hole. Promptly, Dean moves his hands to Sam’s ass, where he spreads him open. Nearly knocking the wind out of him, Sam grabs Dean’s hands and pushes them up above his head.

“Don’t touch,” is ordered and Dean nods. His cock throbs as it’s sat on and slid into Sam, who groans and grunts and bears down, thighs trembling. Without any prep it’s tighter than usual, with a burn Dean knows he’s not the only one feeling. He almost wants to tell Sam to ease up, not go so hard, but there’s no way that’s happening by Sam’s actions. With a loud groan, Sam gasps, fully seated on Dean’s hips, cock standing out and twitching, ass clenching and adjusting to the breech.

Sam whines, shuts his eyes thigh, and leans back. He’s kneeling and bracing himself on the couch and coffee table. Dean is grateful they own a house and not an apartment; soon enough, Sam is riding him. Up and down, Sam’s ass pounds against Dean’s hips. At one point, he moves them in tight, neat little circles, breathing out and huffing in frustration. Dean pushes up and lets Sam know, with a quick hand to his face, cupping Sam’s cheek, that he can handle whatever Sam wants.

The sweater stays on but the clip holding Sam’s hair doesn’t. He lets it loose, Dean watches it swing and fall just above Sam’s shoulders. He wants to run his hands through it but remembers he’s not supposed to touch. His fingers itch but he can’t focus on that too long. Sam’s hands are doing something far more interesting. Sam has slowed his pace now, to an excruciating slowness, moving back and forth only about half an inch up, Dean’s cock firmly inside him. The pace creates pressure and heat all over Dean’s body. He almost starts to protest, but sees Sam’s hands working in a different way.

Sam takes the panties and stretches them over his cock, covering it again. Now he takes the panties and stretches them tight over his cock, making it stand out through the material even more. He rubs the top of the panties against the same spot Dean had before, and keens at the contact. He pulls the fabric back so that everything is tight and protruding. Dean feels his cock throb.

“Sam,” he gasps, unable to stop looking at the panties. “Please,” he finally begs.

There’s a smirk and Sam nods. He reminds Dean he isn’t allowed to touch as he picks up the pace once more. At one point, Sam is grinding down with so much force, Dean fears for his hips and the floor. It wouldn’t be funny if they fell through the floor into the basement without coming.

A minute before Dean comes, he hears the sound of Sam working down on him, the squelch of the lube; he hears Sam moan and cry out and curse and say Dean’s name over and over again; he hears the way they’re both breathing and the vibrations of things around them because of Sam’s pounding. Dean lifts his hips up and shouts, “Coming! Sammy, oh fuck, coming!”

He shoots rope after rope of come inside Sam.

Sam isn’t too far behind, with a great cry and stretching he comes untouched, cock jerking in its lace confines. Come splatters up to his chest, dribbles down all the way to his lower stomach. Dean encourages him to keep going with his hands on Sam’s ass. Sam sighs and closes his eyes and slips Dean out of him. At first, Dean is disappointed. Then he sees what Sam is doing.

He’s reaching back and carefully taking Dean’s leaking come out of him, then smearing it all over the panties. He reaches up to his chest and takes his own come and does the same, then begins to jerk himself off through the lace, rubbing his cock into it.

Dean weakly comes again after a minute of watching Sam’s hand work.

Sam jerks himself off like he’s rubbing and teasing a clit; keeping his hand loose and fingers working.

When he comes again, he looks at Dean seconds before for permission, which is fully granted. Sam pushes his hips forward and the panties down, then comes over Dean’s chest, rubbing his come into Dean’s skin until he collapses, boneless and breathless onto his brother.

They lie there on the floor, twitching and sighing and shuddering from the sensitivity and stimulation.

They each have a happy gift of being able to come twice without much of a break, Sam more so than Dean, and it always leaves them exhausted but sated.

Finally, Dean strokes his hand through Sam’s hair.

They share a brief kiss but remain close, mouths in close proximity.

 

Dean doesn’t say anything about the panties. He doesn’t ask about them or where they came from or when he’ll see them again. He doesn’t tease or taunt him for them either.

He figures Sam will talk when he’s ready and even if he doesn’t, it’s not like them to deny the other anything in regards to sex. He feels like these are the important questions he should be thinking about, so he’ll be prepared when Sam does want to talk.

Later that night they slip into Sam’s bed, worn down in the best of ways, and Sam blows Dean lazily, taking his time and cleaning him up after.

Before Dean completely drifts off and falls asleep, Sam nudges his jaw with his nose.

“Thank you,” is all that’s said.

“Any time,” is the simple, honest reply from Dean.

They’re brave in other ways now.


End file.
